


All Seven Days Of The Week

by msbittersweet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Poem-like, Short and Quick, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbittersweet/pseuds/msbittersweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those are the days Scott McCall thinks about Allison Argent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Seven Days Of The Week

Mondays are dedicated to Allison’s voice. A melody, no, a whole _orchestra_! Music that parts from those sweet lips so harmonious Scott gets the strong urge to record it just so he can play it on repeat and fall asleep to the sound of it.

Tuesdays are passed thinking about her hands. A delicate instrument shaped for loving touches and comforting caresses, shaped for a bow and arrow, shaped for a warrior with a full heart. Long fingers and strong palms, made to fit Scott’s just right.

Wednesdays are for her hair. For the way it curls and twists and falls in so many ways. He relishes those moments, when they're lying down together and his hair reaches for hers and like two desperate hands they _intertwine_.

Thursdays remind him of her ears. Of how Scott whispers to her, promises and sweet nothings and snippets of the dreams he dreams of her. They turn pink and he can see his loving words crawl inside and make their way to her heart, where they belong.

Fridays are spent on her nose. Her little cute nose. Probably the most expressive feature she has, always moving and twitching, showing her distaste or joy even when she's trying to hide it.

Saturdays are when her eyes occupy his mind. Big, soft brown eyes, dark and rich like the world’s finest chocolate. A shade that draws Scott’s own like magnets. The way her eyelashes frame her eyes and the way they always have a glint to them, shining with emotion and Scott just _can’t_ look away.

Sundays are for her ring finger. For that sliver of skin where her forefinger meets her knuckle. And Scott can picture it so perfectly, a band of commitment and love and promise wrapped around her slim digit. And his mind wanders, to the way her voice will sound when she says ‘yes’ to him, to the way her hand will feel when he takes it into his, to the way she’ll tuck her hair behind her ear when she has to look down as Scott kneels, to the way her nose will twitch, and the way her eyes will shine.

All seven days a week. Those are the days Scott thinks of Allison.


End file.
